


We're not who we used to be

by we_are_the_same



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angry Harry, Angst, Can be read as both canon or AU, Depression, Drabble, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exes to Lovers, Getting Back Together, M/M, Pain, Post-Break Up, Sad Harry, Sad Louis, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 15:11:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17226350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/we_are_the_same/pseuds/we_are_the_same
Summary: It's been two months. Harry has been trying to move on. And then Louis calls.





	We're not who we used to be

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly just because I felt really down today, and I was looking through my fic idea doc and then this just happened. Lovingly dedicated to Pam, who always screams at me when I write angst, as well as the lovely Ri and Jill who talked to me while I felt down and who encouraged me to write it all out.

When the phone rings in the dark room, Harry thinks nothing of it. It’s a phone. It’s made to ring, even though current technology makes it so people use phones for anything but calling other people. Maybe he’s a tad surprised that he’s not left it on silent, but, all in all, it’s not that out of the ordinary for a phone to ring.

It’s _who_ is ringing that’s shocking him.

Almost enough to drop the phone straight back onto the table, or maybe the floor, but despite the fact that his fingers are shaking like mad and the picture is sort of blurry (then again, that might be the tears?), he doesn’t drop the phone and the phone doesn’t stop ringing.

Harry realizes a beat too late that the phone _could_ stop ringing, any second now in fact, and he’s not sure if he’ll have the time to make up his mind about whether or not he is ready to answer the call before it goes to voicemail. 

That might be why he answers without actually, you know, answering.

It’s quiet for a moment, then, soft and tinny and painfully familiar - “Harry?”

Harry lets out a noise that at any other point in time, Louis would’ve made fun of him for. But not this time. This time, there’s just a soft, hitched breath. Then, again, “Harry.” It’s not a question this time, but Harry still finds himself shaking his head.

Not that he’s not Harry. He is. He’s always been. But at the same time he’s never been _less_ Harry than he is right now. Because somewhere, along the way, he’s become Louis’ Harry, and then when Louis left - Harry’s not sure who he is anymore. Louis’ Harry, the one he’s asking for right now, doesn’t exist anymore. He’d crumbled into pieces the morning Louis left and that might be dramatic but he doesn’t care because he’s allowed to be dramatic. He’s allowed because they broke up two months ago and he thought he was getting better and Louis just _called_ him.

Called him and said his name in a way that Harry wants to cry over, and yell at him over. Because who does he think he is, saying his name like that? Like he knows him? 

At least he hasn’t called him _love_. 

(God, Harry wishes he would call him love.)

He inhales shakily, realizing that the white noise in his head is in fact white noise on the phone, that Louis is still there, still waiting for Harry to acknowledge him. _Why_ , Harry wants to ask. _Why did you call. Why now. What do you **want**?_

They’re all valid questions, questions he could ask, potentially, if he can do anything but grip his phone so tight that his knuckles are white. 

Louis is patiently waiting, apparently, which is just so ironic, because Louis is the least patient person Harry has ever met in his life, and it’s absurd enough to make Harry laugh. It makes him laugh and then cry, and he’d feel bad about it but he really doesn’t because Louis is calling him and he broke his heart. 

“Louis.” It took too long and his voice isn’t stable enough, isn’t _indifferent_ enough, but he manages, and Harry thinks he deserves to feel proud of that. 

There’s a slow exhale on the other side of the line, and for some reason it reminds Harry to sit down. So he does. He sits down and he grips the edge of the couch and it doesn’t help at all because all it takes is one stupid exhale and he wants to run and go wherever Louis is right now and comfort him. But Louis doesn’t need that from him anymore. 

“I shouldn’t have called,” Louis says, and that. That makes Harry mad.

“No.” He says, blunt in a way he barely ever is. “No you shouldn’t have.” But before Louis can take that to mean that he should hang up (which he would, he’s just as dramatic as Harry is), Harry continues. “But you did, so, what do you want.” If it comes out harsh and gritty, then, well, Louis can deal with that. He deserves to, really. He left him on his own for two months, he deserves to know that Harry isn’t bloody okay. 

Louis inhales this time. Harry sort of wants to punch him because it’s not fair that Louis can breathe when Harry’s felt like he’s been choking for months now.

“I miss you.” 

The laugh Harry lets out is bitter, and he hates how Louis has turned him into that kind of person. He knows, logically, that it’s not entirely Louis’ fault, but it’s easier to be mad at Louis than at himself, because Louis left and it’s not like he can actually escape himself. “Too late,” he tells him, and he hates how when he says it he immediately wants to take it back. Not because he can’t be mean to Louis, but because it’s been two months and Harry’s been waiting for Louis to come back since the moment he left. 

“I know,” Louis sounds sad. Harry doesn’t want him to sound sad. He doesn’t want him to ‘know’ it’s too late because Louis should know that it isn’t. 

“Then why did you call?” Why now? Why not two months ago, or at any point in between? Why did Louis only miss him now? Harry doesn’t understand. Missing Louis has been a constant for him. His current state of being. He might as well erase ‘Harry’ on his passport and replace it with ‘missing Louis’ because it feels like it’s more part of his identity than anything else.

‘Missing Louis’. And ‘worrying my mum and Gems’. ‘Making a mess of the place’. Harry knows that at some point he should stop feeling sorry for himself. He just doesn’t know when it’ll happen. He’s sort of hoping that one day he’ll just wake up and it’ll magically be better. Doubtful though. Especially now that Louis has called him.

“I’m at Lottie’s right now,” Louis tells him. “I’m - I locked myself in the bathroom. Because Ernie asked where you were, he said that he missed you, and I got-” he pauses, lets out a laugh that’s as bitter as Harry’s was. “I got _mad_. Because who does he think he is, thinking he has the right to miss you?”

“He’s five.” Harry says dumbly.

Louis snorts. “I know. I got mad at a five year old because he had the audacity to say that he misses you. I’m a piece of shit.”

Harry frowns. He wants to agree, but, he hates when Louis is down on himself. He sighs. “Probably. But I don’t think this would top the list of reasons why you’re a jerk.” He doubts it would even make it to the top ten. It’s a bit irrational, sure, and Harry doesn’t understand why he’d been mad at Ernie, except that maybe Louis had not expected his family to care much about their break up. Which was a bit silly, because Harry had always gotten along well with them. He likes to think that a few months from now he’ll actually have a chance to miss them too, not just Louis. But right now that longing for him overrides anything else. 

“No, I reckon it wouldn’t,” Louis agrees quietly. “It’s probably not even in your top ten, is it.”

It hurts, how well Louis knows him.

Harry just makes a noncommittal sound. 

Louis sighs. “I’m sorry.” Harry can hear him swallow. And breathe. He tries not to match his breathing to Louis’. Fails. But he’s used to that. To failing to do anything when it comes to Louis. “I’m sorry that I called you. I just - I’ve been in this bathroom for half an hour, looking at pictures of us, thinking it’d make me feel okay again, but it’s just made it worse, I think. I mean, I’m not mad at Ernie anymore. I’m more mad at myself, I reckon. Because he’s five, he doesn’t deserve to feel like there’s this massive gaping hole in his life.”

“I don’t think that’s what he meant.”

“Maybe.” Louis pauses. “But it’s how missing you feels to me.”

Harry gets up from the couch, wanders aimlessly through the living room. Looks at the mantlepiece, where there’s less picture frames than there used to be. He thinks he understands that feeling. He heads over to the window, his own reflection staring back at him, with how dark it’s become outside. He closes the curtains, wanders back towards the couch without bothering to turn on a light. “I hate it.” He says quietly. “Everything feels meaningless without you and I hate it. Some mornings I wonder - why am I even getting up? What’s the point to any of it? I get up and I get dressed and you’re not there, and I eat breakfast and go to work and I come home and you’re not there, and I drag myself through hours of _nothing_ until I can go to bed, alone, and wake up to do it all over again.” He knows it’s not healthy. It’s probably still healthier than staring at pictures of them though. If he squints he can almost make a case for looking like he’s trying to move on. 

“I’m sorry.” Louis says.

“You said that.” Harry responds. 

There’s silence. White noise. So much white noise. Harry wonders if it’ll swallow him up at some point. He wonders if maybe he’s losing it. 

“When did it all change, Haz?” The nickname makes him dig his fingernails into his palm. “When did we stop fighting for each other and start fighting _with_ each other?” Louis doesn’t wait for an answer. “And when did we give up on that altogether? And how is it that I felt like we were strangers for the last few months of our relationship, that I figured it wouldn’t be much different if we were actually apart because we were barely speaking, how is it that I was so wrong? These past two months, they were nothing like before. I fucking hated it while it was happening but when it ended? God, I just wanted it back. I would’ve given anything to just go back in time and stay with you, even if all we did was co-exist.”

A tear splashes onto Harry’s hand. He stares at it, as it wobbles for a second, holding its shape for a second before it spills in multiple directions. He sniffs. “Wanted?” He whispers.

It’s a testament to how well he knows Louis that he can tell he’s holding back a curse. Harry swallows. “You don’t want that anymore?” He isn’t sure Louis is even able to hear him. He isn’t sure that he wants Louis to hear him.

He closes his eyes, as though that can shield him from anything Louis can throw at him. Curtains drawn, front door locked, and yet he isn’t able to keep out the demons, the worry and the fear and the overwhelming certainty that he’s yet to hit rock bottom. He knows he should just hang up, but he also needs to hear it. Maybe that’s what will finally help him move on. Maybe hearing Louis say it would be what Harry needed to finally get some closure.

“Did you keep our photos?” Louis asks, and Harry wishes he would give him a straight answer for once in their lives. He bites back on snapping at him, just sighs. Louis does the same. The sighing part. Maybe the refraining from snapping part too, Harry isn’t sure. “Have you looked at them, lately?”

Harry snorts. “I know I’m a masochist, Lou, but I was depressed enough without torturing myself like that.”

Louis makes a soft sound. “I didn’t look at them until today. And - fuck, Harry. How did we give up on that? Those pictures, we look _happy_. No, I don’t want what we had anymore. I don’t want to share an apartment with you and just feel like we’re.. I don’t know. Not who we used to be. Imprints, of ourselves.” 

“Ghosts,” Harry says quietly. Remembering a night of drinking and messily scrawled lyrics. “Two ghosts standing in the place of you and me.” He doesn’t remember the lyric that followed it. Something about lost heartbeats? He thinks Louis will understand what he means though.

Louis makes another quiet, _hurt_ sound. “So you felt it too. I’ve been so lonely, Haz. Long before I left. I don’t know what happened, why we got to a point where I forgot what it was like to be happy with you. These past two months, they’ve been hell, but they also reminded me that I lost something real. That what we had - we were _happy_ , Harry. We were happy and then we weren’t, and I don’t know if there’s a way to fix that or if you even want to-”

“I miss you.” Harry says. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t know either,” Louis replies quietly. “I just know that you’re worth it. This, _us_ , is worth it. I don’t want to miss you anymore, Harry. I want to come back. I want to come home. Bring me home, Harry, please?”

Harry thinks of another set of lyrics, ones inked on Louis’ skin. _Given a chance_. He opens his eyes to a dark room, messy and out of focus because of tears clinging to his lashes. 

Maybe it’s time to turn on the light. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this story, please leave kudos/a comment, and if you want to, reblog the [fic post](https://so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed.tumblr.com/post/181552202718/were-not-who-we-used-to-be-by) and come say hi on Tumblr!


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